


mythopoeia

by Perelka_L



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 08:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelka_L/pseuds/Perelka_L
Summary: Kings do not serve.Entranced by a stranger who nearly elevated the King to godhood: he serves.





	mythopoeia

**Author's Note:**

> Based on SunnyClockwork's "[Theology of a Snake](http://www.scp-wiki.net/theology-of-a-snake)".
> 
> Well, actually it was written in parallel to that. Unbeta'ed and also an old work, which I tried to fit my current standards.

The King's bedroom was dark, which wasn't unusual when he arrived here this late and alone. The servants were asleep, the night shutting their eyes, but the fireplace was out. The air was cold, stale. The King noted to later remind his servants that fireplace was supposed to be burning whenever the night came this time of year, even this late, and opted to quickly undress and hide in his warm bed.

The visit to his wife's grave, in cold underground chapel, chilled his bones enough. 

He looked around, slowly moved to take off his coat, unhooking the chain that tied together the furs, but when he threw it away, he heard a breath.

On his bed was sitting the Ambassador, a dark figure hidden in the shadow, grey eyes observing. Loose, half-translucent clothes hid nothing from King's eyes, veiled smooth skin contrasting sharply with metal links that hanged off their body and face. King never could get used to this sight, whenever they appeared to him like this, whenever they chose to do so. Revealed and open, and yet not exposed.

"Good evening, my Lord." They smiled when the King blinked. "Do not undress yet."

And the King, damn him, listened. The Ambassador got up, entering the weak light of the stars coming from the outside, and King could only stare as they came closer to him. The air surrounding the dark body was cold enough to see it swirl in the air.

They took off his clothes. Deep purples, luxurious and thick clothes, dripping intricate brocades and patterns and gold, one after another they were thrown onto the floor, spiderlike hands greedily exploring every single layer uncovered and exposed.

The King shivered under the touch, feeling the cold settle in his bones, but when his Ambassador gently pushed his shoulder, he obeyed and kneeled. The floor was cold, their body was cold, the air was cold, but the Ambassador was glorious, their fingers burying in King's grey hair, playing with them slowly, deliberately.

"Please," he whispered. He suddenly felt so old. He felt so mortal. In comparison with this almost unearthly creature he felt so weak - but why? Wasn't he the King? Wasn't he the greatest, the most powerful? Didn't he rule the kingdom? Didn't he had a son, still too young and fragile? Wasn't he breathing in the ichor and walked the paths that gods walked, eons ago?

"Please," the cold was intense. He still had air from the chapel in his lungs. He looked up and they looked pensive, watching the way his hair curled under their fingers.

"Please," and he was just a man. And the Ambassador was so gorgeous, a temptation made into human form - and the King wondered, sometimes, what the Ambassador could possibly be, what is hidden under this smooth skin, under those grey eyes and silvery chains.

"Please," the Ambassador came a step closer and rised their thigh, put it on the King's shoulder - and he, like a starved man he was started pressing kisses on the Ambassador's covered stomach, almost worshiping the smooth skin with his lips. It looked almost gray in the weak light, under the thin material.

He didn't dare to use his hands.

The Ambassador moved their fingers to back of his neck, tickling pleasantly. The King shivered, this time not from cold. It was a while since Ambassador came to his bedroom like this, both busy with the City, with politics, with grief and whispers of godhood and by the world, he missed them.

They unbuttoned their shirt and threw it away, next to King's clothes, and King pressed his mouth against their abdomen, kissing, licking, desiring like never before.

The Ambassador scratched his back gently with his sharp fingers, humming gently under his breath. They were pleased, so the King continued and kissed lower.

The bed was always cold when the Ambassador came with a visit, even with both of them in it.

Their longing hands on his neck were colder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Time to look at all Hanged King skips differently, eh? :Da


End file.
